


Closer to God

by misplacedkisses



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, M/M, and tar-miriel/sauron, it gets progressively more explicit, numenor falls, submission and seduction as tools of power, the sauron/tar-miriel smacks of dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misplacedkisses/pseuds/misplacedkisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You whore yourself to the throne as was ever your way."<br/>He leaned in close, breath burning, and, "Why storm the castle when you might rule the king from you bed?"<br/>She did not answer and he smiled, predatory, and walked a step past her.<br/>"You ought to have been my greatest threat, a strong willed queen.  But our greatest difference?  You think you are more virtuous suffering in quietly defiant resignation, and I," he was suddenly at her ear again, "I believe in taking power through submission."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

She was knelt upon the bare stone, head bowed, hands clasped, pressed to her heart. There was but a single light before her to break the evening gloom. She was in the center of a small inner courtyard adjoining the Lord and Lady’s private chambers, a round space surrounded by pillars and a covered promenade. Murmurs in the High Elven tongue floated over the night.

He had been drawn out by the words and now stood scowling in the shadows of a pillar, watching. She raised her eyes to the stars and his nails bit into his palms at her defiance. But soft footfalls spoke of a visitor and he forced the tension from his body. A voice, too close to his ear for propriety, asked,

“Do you covet my wife?”

Sauron watched her a moment more, then made a small noise of derision and turned to face the lord, “Your wife is fair, yes. But still she prays to false gods.”

Ar-Pharazon chuckled, “Yes, she does, it amuses her to and I let her.” He leaned in and ran his nose along Sauron’s jaw to whisper against his ear, “Are you displeased?”

“With her, but it is no matter. You do not displease me. Or rather, I should not like to displease you, my lord.”

Ar-Pharazon nibbled at Sauron’s earlobe, took his hand and ran it down the thin night robe cup his hardening member.

“Well,” he sucked at the earlobe, “I am in the mood to be pleased.”

Sauron stroked, featherlight, “I would not be remiss, my lord.” He took a firmer grip and at Ar-Pharazon’s quiet groan whispered, “I am at your service,” then released him and swept back into the chambers.

 

Later...

 

Ar-Pharazon rolled onto his side and reached out to trace his fingers through the come cooling on Sauron’s stomach, “Were you like this for others, too?” he asked.

Sauron looked askance at him, “Would you have me speak of past lovers while we lie in bed?” Ar-Pharazon only met his eyes and looked down with a smile, Sauron continued, “In Eregion, yes, but he did not suit my needs for long. The hearts of elves are fickle and troublesome things,” he sighed, “I had to tear his out.”

These comments had crept into their conversation slowly, subtly, so Ar-Pharazon could not have said when they began. At first he had cringed, repulsed even when these thoughts came unbidden in his moments of greatest violence. But these were, to him, confessions, pieces of honesty which belonged only to him. He would ask for these moments when they lay together, to own Sauron’s cruelties with the violence of his lovemaking.

Ar-Pharazon hummed, “Did he come to you as I did?”

“No, he was not so bold as you are.”

“Bold, yes. I know what I want. I do what I have to to get it.” But a moment later added, “And yet he was confronted with this same beauty,” in frustrated tones.

“Such as I am now, so have I been for many long years.”

“Have you always looked this way then?” Sauron sighed.

“Variations of the same, in large part. I have worn forms such as you would not recognize me though, as need arose.” Ar-Pharazon was silent for a beat too long and Sauron turned his head to look at him and he seemed troubled. Sauron reminded him,

“I am not of the kinds that live and can die, I simply am.” The troubled look did not abate and Sauron lifted a hand to sooth the worry from his brow, “To live forever in the fullness of your youth, that is the fate you are destined to reclaim. It is owed you. It is befitting, the flower which blooms golden ought never to die.”

Ar-Pharazon leaned in, whispering against Sauron’s lips, “A golden king I am yes, for look what treasure I have,” he bit at a soft lower lip, “no golden greater than that which I have been inside,” he licked into a wet kiss, then groaned, “I would have you again!” And he rolled on top of Sauron, settling between his legs, hissing at the feel of their growing pleasures.

Grinding down, Ar-Pharazon moaned, “Oh, I would that all could see such riches as I have, let their greed devour them for they cannot have what is mine. Golden I am indeed, reflected in your eyes.”

Sauron flipped them and, settling on Ar-Pharazon’s hips, took them both in hand and growled, “When you are master of all Arda, I shall cast a throne upon which to ride you for the world’s many eyes to see, but only then.”

 

Later...

 

At a knock, the servants in the anteroom stepped to the side of the door. One issued from within and held the door. Miriel rose from the couch she was lounged on and pushed into the further chamber with a sigh.

“I hope you have slaked your lust, for you kept him long this night,” she said, coming to her boudoir.

Ar-Pharazon watched her from the bed as she removed her jewelry, “Are you jealous, Queen? Cold though you are, I could have you this night as well.”

She laughed and let her hair down, “Jealous? No. But cold: I was long in the antechamber for your servants had barred my entrance. Have the decency the sheets been changed?”

“You would do well to watch your tongue,” he commanded in a harsh voice. Then, relaxing back into the pillows, he continued in a lighter tone, “We each worship our gods in different ways. You offer prayers to the deaf ears of false gods; I give of myself unto the Darkness.”

She paced over to the window and remained silent, when he prompted her said only, “I shall not speak my mind on this matter. I do not contradict the lord of this land.”

He scoffed and said, “You are cold as the broken sea, and chaste. I should have you just to break the ice of your body. But I will not, for I have spent myself in eternal fires this night and I do not wish to sully the memory.”

“He does have his uses then, I suppose,” she mused, turning up to the stars. Ar-Pharazon watched her as she disrobed and nearly repented his words, for the gentle swells of her body were like the sea and, for all his words, the sea, even so cold, spoke of power and he would possess it. But he had come into his power through her, taking her place, and could not escape a certain feeling of illegitimacy.

“Leave your damnable stars and come. I am tired of this talk, we have wasted the night,” he said, frustrated with the idea that he had failed to truly own her.

As she slipped into the bed and the servants doused the lights, she spoke into the night, “We do have one thing in common, he and I, we love you not.” She pressed a kiss into his furrowed brow and whispered her goodnight.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest, been picturing Gerwell's fantastic Sauron this whole time.

He took to watching her in the evenings, the juxtaposition appealed to him. From the shadows he would observe her defiance and, after a time, Ar-Pharazon would come to him. That she could hear them, he well knew, but that her look did never reflect that frustrated him. His complaint came loose one morning as he spoke with the king.

“She cannot be owned, for my sex would burn with the cold of her frosted heart. Nay, she is but an ornament to my kingship, cast her from your mind for I would rather burn myself in your fires now,” Ar-Pharazon said and drew him to his knees. “Sauron, black death once, but give me now life,” and sought to use poison lips.

These times only brought shame to Sauron. Shame that he would take himself in hand for the pleasure of being used by so inferior a master. Shame that the tepid flesh of man should call forth memories of iron and smoke, of groans that shook the roots of the mountains, of a dark malice and rough handling, seed that would burn through the heart of him. Shame that he would lose himself in these moments, lose control. Shame that he would sob, angry and desperate, chasing a release beyond the Doors of Darkness even as Ar-Pharazon would beg for mercy on his over-sensitive body.

“It is as though a fit of madness comes over you in these times! As if you seek to draw out my very soul!” Ar-Pharazon exclaimed, stumbling to the wall to rest and look at Sauron in wonder.

“A madness? Yes, a madness beyond the reckoning of years. But there is solace in the darkness, as you are learning. Solace and power.”

“Ah yes, I will have much time to find solace in power once I have reclaimed our right to eternity. Alas that my wife does not see your wisdom,” he panted, slowly regaining his breath.

“Yes, her defiance is irksome. Yet she may still be brought to reason.”

“Oh? It would comfort the wives if she would see off the fleet, but that is, I suppose, too much to hope for.”

“I fear only you could command her to that,” Sauron said, rising, “but speaking of the fleet,” he strode over and began to right the king’s clothes, “I believe you have captains and a day of strategizing awaiting you.”

“Yes. And you cannot- ah,” Ar-Pharazon shuddered as Sauron gave his spent cock a squeeze before fixing his pants, “can you not be there as well?”

Sauron shook his head, “I have business to attend to at the temple. Now, especially, is not the time to be neglectful with the offerings,” and he swept out of the room.

 

Later...

 

He stopped to watch her, though the air was already rent with sounds of pleasure. She would, usually, maintain an air of determined serenity as she prayed, as if she could continue though the palace went up in flame. She sighed in frustration and called out,

“There is no use waiting for him, he is occupied tonight.”

Sauron stepped out into the inner courtyard, “Yes, he clings desperately to youth tonight. But I do not come here to meet him,” he moved to circle her, “No, I come to watch you offer prayers to false gods, to observe your blasphemy.”

She turned her head to the stars and closed her eyes, “They have done much for this land and people, though we have long passed out of their favor. My heart turns ever west and at least the last queen of the Numenor shall those who granted the first her power.” He paused before her, face impassive, and she continued, “I know what you seek with this war upon the sea, and I do not doubt you shall get it.”

He regarded her a moment, then stepped out onto the balcony. Armenalos spread out before him, lights flickering the windows as the twilight deepened.

“Yes,” he said, “Destruction will sweep the land. This city will be razed to the ground and not one will be left alive.”

“A wave of destruction may indeed sweep this doomed island, but you do not know that you will be able to escape it this time. You know not what you may cause to be unleashed across the land and if you will strong enough to withstand it.”

“You forget that I am beyond all mortality, my spirit shall endure as long as Arda.”

“Your spirit, yes. But I believe, without this form, you should be powerless, for it is only by it’s graces you have what power you do now.”

He swept forward to her, acrid with the scent of the temple sacrifices, “Believe you I have no power but a fair form?”

"You whore yourself to the throne as was ever your way."

He leaned in close, breath burning, and, "Why storm the castle when you might rule the king from you bed?"

She did not answer and he smiled, predatory, and walked a step past her.

"You ought to have been my greatest threat, a strong willed queen. But our greatest difference? You think you are more virtuous suffering in quietly defiant resignation, and I," he was suddenly at her ear again, "I believe in taking power through submission."

Pacing to the door, he sighed, and said, “Fell beasts, disposable multitudes, and my native power besides, yet why waste when I might merely persuade my enemies to self-destruction? You would speak of lost virtues, I count finesse among them.”

Again she stood silent and watched him with a steady eye. Abrupt, he turned to her, posture formal, “I request an audience with the queen.”

Chin uplifted, she replied only, “Permission granted,” and followed him to the throne hall.

 

“Well,” she said, striding past him, “you have come before the throne,” she sat in the queen’s seat, “speak your part.”

“I have requested an audience with the queen, I would speak to Tar-Miriel, the last queen of the Numenor, not Ar-Zimraphel, the wife of Ar-Pharazon.”

She started, but moved to the ruling chair, “Go on.”

“My queen,” he began, stalking forward, “it has come to my attention that this kingdom does not serve you. It cares not for you needs and so you have turned aside. But you have not forsaken it, no,” he halted just before the throne, “there is no love between you, and yet you are faithful,” he knelt, “he is a selfish lover and neglects you, yet you are faithful.”

Sauron looked down, smiled absently as his fingertips grazed her bare ankles and she tensed. “My queen,” his hands trailed up, taking her hem along, “I would offer you my services,” now to her knees, “I would attend to your pleasure,” now, gripping her thighs, pulled her forward and open.

“Scandalous, my queen,” and his breath was hot upon her bare sex. She held her breath, yet he paused and she forced open eyes unknowingly closed. Those golden eyes held her as he inhaled deeply, then, with a smirk, his mouth descended upon her.

 

“This,” she said, breath hitching, “this is your natural state,” a second finger breached her and she sighed.

Hips twitched up and would arch, but his hold was firm and she moaned restlessly, “You would be a ruler of men and elves, but-” those fingers crooked within her.

“But,” panting, “this is your natural state, this,” she cried out, “this is what you yearn for.”

His assault was becoming feverish and she struggled to hold onto the words, “On your knees before the throne,” she could feel him moaning into her, “mouth open, begging to be used,” and the tides of her pleasure overtook her.

 

“And you?” she asked, by habit. He looked up, tongue curling around his glistening fingers, then stood.

“Would you give me pleasure, queen?”

She bit her lip and ran a finger along the hard ridge of his sex as it bent towards his hip beneath his robes.

“No,” she whispered and rose, near to pressed against him as he stood before the throne, “you are dismissed.”

 

Later...

 

That night’s girl, hardly the age of majority, hair undone and dress improperly buttoned, fled the room as she entered. Ar-Pharazon watched her leave from the bed, smirking, offering no excuse.

“You might give her a lesson in discretion,” Miriel said, depositing her jewelry.

“No, it is more fun when they are competitive. They, at least, these fiery young things, are desperate for my affections.”

“Young, yes, they have not known attentive lovers and you flatter them with pretty things.”

“So cold, you are, and yet tonight it seems that there is a flame within you.”

Then she was grim and moved, as ever, to the window to farewell the stars and disrobe, but she paused, “Douse the lights.”

He started, “No, you may deny me your body but I would still have the pleasure of seeing it!”

She held firm and only repeated, with more force, “Douse the lights,” and the servants obeyed her for fear.

She let loose her robe and stifled a gasp, for even in the moonlight the bruise blossomed upon her thigh. Branded by a black hand, and her nobility, pure like driven snow, was marred. She slipped into the bed and turned away from him.

“I would attend a formal farewell, if it were held two days before sailing,” she said, “if the wives and children of your fleet desire it.”

“They would be glad of it, the mariners as well,” he laughed, “Persuasive, is he not? Sauron, my faithful counselor,” and she trembled.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfc this took so long to finish. but I have no more wisdom teeth now?
> 
> also wow, definitely had to change the rating for this chapter

Miriel had hardly dismounted her horse when they came upon her.

“Your presence is requested at the temple, my lady,” it was a command, and harsh of tone. They were four, hostile and armed, and her guard only two and weary.

“As you can see, I am but only just arrived. It is only midday and I can scarce imagine what need he may have of me that cannot wait an hour. I will take food and drink, stock of my house, and rest. You may watch over me if you must, but if I am needed before the hour, he must come for me myself,” and she turned towards the house, but her way was blocked.

“We are instructed to take you perforce, if needs be.”

Miriel drew herself up, “Are you men of Numenor?”

The leader, thrown by the question, frowned and replied that they certainly were.

“Then so long as you would call yourself men of Numenor, I am your queen and it is my word that you must obey. Yes?” The guard nodded, humbled and yet uneasy. “Now, if your poor manners beg the excuse of hunger, you may dine with me and see that my word is true and thence, upon the hour, accompany me to the temple,” and she swept past them to her waiting maidservant.

“Oh, this bodes ill, my queen, no good comes of being wanted at the temple!” the girl whispered.

“Yes, and so I must dress for battle. Are my laces in fit state to be worn?”

The girl hesitated and nearly stumbled, “Your laces? My lady, do not you want armor, if he means to burn you?”

“Yes, I want armor most magnificent. Laces and silks, you see, are fine defences. Men fear women who refuse to be afraid. He is no man, but he will know it is not him I fear. I know his mind, if I cannot escape the fire, I will fan the flames beyond his control.”

 

There came a knock at the chamber door and one of her own guard stepped in, “They say it is time, my queen. May we not accompany you?”

Miriel pushed aside her food and rose, “No, I would go alone, if I could,” she walked over to her glass and to her reflection said, “We have taken up arms and will walk proudly into battle; we, the last queen, frozen with faith.” She smiled, tragic and beautiful, and stepped out to greet her fate.

 

Sauron was standing at the edge of the pit, a sacrifice trembling on the precipice before him. The man was crying piteously, begging for his life. Miriel felt a surge of protectiveness well up within her, for this man was a subject and though the end drew nigh, he might yet receive mercy.

“Would you not rather a willing sacrifice?”

“Oh,” he laughed, “I ever welcome the willing, but, my queen, the only hope of redemption is in submission to the darkness. I would not deprive this man of his opportunity for forgiveness,” he redirected to the man before him, “Ask not for mercy, for you shall have none, but ask for the gift of darkness, and you shall receive. Your choice is made,” he picked the man up and held him over the edge, “pray not to false gods, may the black abyss take you,” and he dropped the man into the flames.

She shuddered and willed herself not to be sick, and they listened to the man burn alive. Then Sauron turned to her, eyes ever more aglow, and he had never looked less human.

“Come my queen, we will not linger in this hall of death. Wish you not to see what a willing sacrifice might find?”

 

She cannot call what they are making love, and this time she is in no place to refuse. So she stands before him and lets herself unravel. The tie binding her dress, threaded with gold, she undoes first and drops among the pillows. The dress next, white and shining, and she is unwrapped. The lace is all that is left, but he holds up a hand when she moves to step forward, and the lace falls as well. Her hair is last and she is permitted to approach him as that tumbles down her back.

Toe to toe, close enough to share his breath, she asks, “Is this how you reward the willing?”

“Come now, you must know this is about power.”

“Then what would you command of me?”

“Undress me.”

They are standing close and she is hyper aware of the way her arms nudge her breasts as she reaches up to the fastenings at his throat; his eyes, like fingers, trace the movement. All too soon she is pushing the cloth off his shoulders, counting breaths to focus, to ignore the dull pulse of anticipation, but she is dripping. She will not give in so quickly, and looks him in the eye and pulls loose the lacings of his pants, breath hitching with his as she takes him in hand.

“Now now, do not get ahead of yourself,” but there’s a hairline fracture in his composure and, for a while, she will yield in light of her victory; so she releases him and pushes the trousers over his hips, lets them pool at his ankles.

“How would you have me?”

“Mm,” he moves forward, shaft slipping between her thighs, she gasps at the contact, “maybe...” he trails off as he watches his fingers trail up the curves of her body, one hand settling over her fluttering heart, the other tracing absent-minded circles around a nipple, “maybe you are ready,” the restless fingers find her throat and he is so close his lips brush her open mouth, “you are so eager,” she presses forward though she would choke, and he smirks before licking into her mouth. She could not call it a kiss and she is powerless though he rocks into the space she made tight and slick between her thighs.

Her fingers itched to touch him, but as she reaches out, he steps back, hard enough now to bounce up against his stomach. Then he turns and throws himself down among the pillows, half reclining, legs spread, and gestured for her. And so she comes and kneels above him, bracing herself on his shoulder and steadying him beneath her. He runs hot, hotter than human, the dull ache of stretching nearly searing and as he breaches her she brings her hand up to fist his hair in order not to gasp. But he does, her white-knuckled grip punching out a helpless sound, hands finding her thighs in a bruising grip, and his mouth falling open against her chest. She would smile but her body betrays her, the slide becoming easy and she chokes at the sudden fullness. She stops a moment, trying to breath, trying to to remember how to breathe, leaning into him with her full weight. Then she grips his hair as tight as she dares and began to move.

“I see you know how to play my game, but I wonder why you did not,” he murmurs, voice rough now. His hands settle over her buttocks and begin to bring her down more forcefully.

“It satisfied me to leave him unsatisfied,” teasing, she slows to a rolling grind, “I know you will not accept that.” She tips his head back and dips into his mouth.

Then suddenly she is on her back and he swallows her whimper as the angle pushes him in deeper. She needs to breathe, to pant, to scream, but her mouth is captive and now the slow grind teases her and her legs being stretched so open and she arches her back like that will make room for him so far inside her. Overwhelmed and he moves, teeth and tongue, down her neck, down over her heart, down to a nipple, too good but not good enough and she is nearly squirming for something more.

But he has given her clues, slipped up, and she can command him, so she pulls him up and whispers into his ear, “Did he tease you until you begged for corruption?”

“Yes,” his answer, hardly more than a gust of breath.

He stills a moment, then laughs, and she wonders if she has not lost this battle. For as one arm snakes beneath her, bracing her up as he shifts to his knees, sitting back on his heels, the other hand skims across her hip and his thumb finds the heart of her pleasure while his head drags against it from the inside. She can feel him smirking where his head is heavy against her shoulder, it is too much and before she knows it, she is tossing her head back, body taught, and his name escapes her on a sobbing moan. Yet he keeps touching her though her body twitches away,

“Sauron, please!” and he relents, but only to sit up and push her legs up over his shoulders, before moving again. This time he moves with a self-serving violence, and she cries out with the aftershocks until she can think again. There is an angry desperation to him, his hands restless, flexing too hard as they move over her, searching for the right hold. She coaxes him closer, though his strokes knock the breath from her at a punishing pace, until she can fist his hair and pull as hard as she can.

“Come for your master” and bites down on his pulse until she tastes blood. He cries out something like a name, then rears back and comes, almost burningly hot within her, then across her chest and face even as he pulls out and wrings himself dry above her. He laughs.

 

His laughter follows her as she runs, tying her dress as she goes, through the streets towards the Meneltarma. The ground is shaking and a dull roar is coming out of the west and yet it cannot drown out his laughter.

She is only on the lower slopes when the waters reaches her. She looks east through her tears and watches as the temple is extinguished. Then she closes her eyes, womb burning and laughter ringing in her ear, and prays that the water might purify her in death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we could make friends on tumblr? [this is me!](thingolsdingles.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to be friends on tumblr, I'm mammawidow!


End file.
